


Genesis

by ShatteredSwallowtail



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Gen, Genesis-verse - yeah bc this is Genesis lol, M/M, all the characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail
Summary: Welcome to Genesis. Firstly, I do not own Bleach. However, if Idid, this is how the story would have continued had I been given control of it at about chapter 286, excepting the events from TBTP bc those -- being flashbacks -- would technically have been part of the story already. If that makes sense. XD.Spoiler Warning:Obviously, anything up to Ch. 286, as well as the Turn Back the Pendulum flashback arc. Anything else, from Ch287 onward does not impact this story because it was initially created before any of THAT was created. TBTP is included simply bc it's backstory and that's easily allowable.Summary:Every story has a beginning, just as it has a middle and an end. Lives are lived, wars are fought, loves are found and lost. This is one such story. This is the story of a beginning, but it is also the story of a journey. The story of how one man and one woman found their way through obstacles and hardships to finally stand on the cusp of their own destinies. It is the story of three worlds, and the friction between them. It is a story of change, of hardship. A story of prejudice, loss, and heartache. But above all... it is a story of life. Life, in all it's colours and shapes.





	1. And Upon this day, destiny's wheels began to turn

The sigh slipped out in a faint muted whisper as hands folded themselves together, their interlaced fingers creating a cradle for the head crowned by a shock of vibrant orange hair as Ichigo lay back against the sun-warmed tiles of the roof and folded his arms behind his head. Blinking slightly in the brightness of the sunset light, he frowned and unfolded one hand from it's position to reach into his pocket. Finding the small white rectangle, he slid his thumb across the front of it, the pad easily finding the raised edge of the iPod's scroll wheel. Pressing thumb to the flat disc, he swiveled the digit, listening as the device clicked through songs before settling onto the one he was looking for. He pulled the hand back out of his pocket and replaced it behind his head before stretching slightly and crossing one leg over the other. That was better. Now at least, there was the chance to drown out the thoughts in his head -- loud and angry music tended to do that -- with the vocal tones and instrumentals of his own personal noise collection.

He stayed like that for a few minutes, silent and still, the faint hum of the music the only audible sign of his presence. It was nice like this. Nice to just _be_ here for a change. No hollows, no arrancar, no... nothing. Only, that train of thought only served to bring his mind _back_ to what it had been brooding about to begin with, what had initially sent him seeking the solace of the rooftop where he had often gone as a child to simply get _away_ from everything. But that had been a long time ago, and those troubles had been different. Smaller, more easily overcome than the ones he faced now.

Opening his eyes, he stared up at the butter-cream clouds overhead, watching as the falling sun painted them with streaks of red and orange, beginning to fade the edges to crimson and lavender as the fringes of the sky darkened in preparation for the oncoming night. Things... weren't the same anymore. And not just because of all they'd experienced in Soul Society, though that _did_ have a good deal to do with it, but now there was more that came along with it. Honestly... he hadn't expected things to all just up and _end_ after they'd saved Rukia from her execution, and it wasn't only because of all the shit that had happened with Aizen. He just... knew, was all. Even when they'd all been ready to go, ready to come back home and pick up where they'd left off and she'd chosen instead to stay there, to stay behind and not go back with them, he'd still known. Still understood, somehow, that it wasn't really "good-bye" but instead was just a momentary parting.

It was frustrating to think about it, to face the fact that while things in general hadn't been the same once Rukia was gone, once the dark-haired shinigami was back in Soul Society -- back where she _belonged_, he had to remember that -- that of all the things that hadn't been the same, the most notable thing that had changed was _him_. But before he'd even really had the chance to think about it -- unwillingly, of course, because when you really got down to it, _feelings_ weren't his thing -- the arrancar had attacked.

That first incursion still ate at him, still gnawed at his insides when he remembered the feeling of impotence, the horror he had experienced as he'd watched his friends fall on either side of him, watched Chad and Inoue be so thoroughly defeated, nearly _killed_ and there he was, unable to save them, unable to do nearly _anything_ because of the shrieking voice in the back of his head, because of the _Hollow_ within his soul and the way he was losing himself to it. They'd been saved, thanks to the timely intervention of Yoruichi and Geta-boushi, but no one had understood that that didn't _mean_ a damned thing when it came down to it, other then the fact that they were all really fucking lucky. It didn't MEAN anything because _he_ was supposed to be the one fighting. The one saving them. The one protecting _his friends_. And yet, he'd been useless.

Because of her.

Well, not _literally_ because of her, that would have just been stupid, but at the same time he couldn't deny that while the aggravating little midget had been a pain, and a thorn in his side, and sure she'd been in the way some of the time, he'd come to rely on her. Not so much for her powers -- kinda hard to do that when HE'D had them all -- but for her knowledge, her confidence, and the simple fact that she knew a hell of a lot more about this shinigami shit than he did. He'd been useless because, even though he'd known she wasn't coming, known she wasn't there to rely on, to turn to as backup... he'd still been hesitating. Still holding back, like some frightened child afraid to ride his bike without training wheels.

It was maddening, and even more so because now she _was_ back, and there was nothing to be done for it. No time to wean himself from this dependency he'd only recently been able to admit he had, no way to sit back and mull over feelings and emotions and just why he felt so damned _empty_ when she wasn't around, because now she _was_ around and ironically enough it was now, when she'd finally returned, that he most felt that he _didn't_ want her nearby.

Something had changed between them, something that he didn't really understand, and didn't know how to approach. She was still Rukia, still the same bossy little midget brat who beat him up and ordered him around and expected him to cater to her every demand for Chappy-themed crap to round out her collection. None of that had changed. And it wasn't the fact that she was now fighting _beside_ him, rather than behind him as his support. Sure, that first time when she'd declared that she was perfectly capable to fighting again he hadn't believed her, but the way she'd planted his face in the pavement with her shoe and -- as she put it -- ground some sense into his orange head had been enough to make him throw up his hands and give in. If she said she could fight again, who the hell was he to get in her way.

Except... that was exactly what he _wanted_ to do, and it didn't make sense. Rukia was a shinigami, hell she'd BEEN a shinigami longer than he'd been alive, it wasn't as though she didn't know what she was doing. She could fight, she was strong and capable and skilled. He _knew_ that, but still... something in him couldn't get past the idea of her fighting. Some portion of himself that had arbitrarily decided that it's sole purpose in life was to protect her and how the hell was he supposed to protect her if she kept putting herself in danger like that?

Shoving a hand back into his pocket, he thumbed the volume dial on the iPod and closed his eyes again. What was the point of worrying over it, he'd already spent enough time trying to figure this shit out, and there were more important things to worry about than why things felt weird with Rukia. Heaving another sigh, he refolded the other arm behind his head and did his best to relax.  
~*~

From her vantage point on Ichigo's bed, it wasn't as though it was difficult for her to know where he was. Hell, she'd heard the commotion his feet had made in their tromp across the roof-tiles a scant thirty minutes ago, and that wasn't even taking into account the fact that Kurosaki Ichigo hemmoraged reiatsu like an angry wound wept blood. He was nigh impossible _not_ to notice. Shifting on his bed, Rukia readjusted her skirt and idly flipped the page of her manga. If he wanted to be alone up on the roof, it wasn't like she was going to bother him about it. At least.... not right off the bat. Nosy though she knew she could be -- she'd have denied it if he'd called her on it -- she had enough respect for him to respect his privacy and respect when he wanted solitude and the time to deal with whatever demons were flitting through his head. It was enough, she knew, that she was there. Enough that he _knew_ she was there, and that he knew that soon enough she'd make her presence known and they'd share some sort of intangible communication and things would be alright again.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, the violet-eyed shinigami watched the brilliant red second hand tick by in the relative silence of the late afternoon. Another twenty seconds and she rolled her eyes, slipping the thin plastic slip with the Chappy logo on it between the pages before setting the slim volume down on the side of the desk. Honestly, what _was_ it with men that made them do this whole silent brooding thing whenever something was on their minds? Couldn't they just talk about it like normal adults? Forgetting for a moment that -- were she to be somewhat honest with herself, which she wasn't -- she herself had just as bad a habit of internalizing, of keeping everything inside where prying eyes couldn't see, she crawled across the comforter to wedge her fingers against the sash of the window.

Shoving upwards, she felt the initial resistance before the wood and glass pane slid up and out of the way, the sudden breeze from the open window ruffling dark hair. Leaning out of the window, she took a moment to glance around, making sure no one was watching before she leapt out of the window, the soles of her loafers impacting against the tiles as she made her way across the low edge of the eave, peering up over the ledge to where his lankier form was sprawled across the roof.

He was still moody, that much was certain, he'd _been_ moody since she'd come back, though she knew it really didn't have that much to do with her. At least... she didn't _think_ it had much to do with her. If it had, the shinigami honestly wasn't sure what she would have done. Either way, it was a moot point, seeing as the reason for his dour mood could easily be traced back to what had happened with Inoue and Sado, when the Arrancar had attacked. He'd been powerless, unable to do anything to stop what had happened, and she knew him well enough to know how much he abhored that feeling.

She watched him for a moment, her sharp eyes taking in the thin white cords running to the earpieces. One of those music-listening things, she'd seen it before just as she'd seen the little pink one that Yuzu kept in her backpack or the other little white rectangles that other humans carried around. She herself had never played with one, but they seemed to be popular with most of the other people at school. Either way, whatever sort of music the device held, it was keeping her orange-haired substitute's attention to the point where he hadn't even noticed her approach.

Hopping up over the ledge to land on the roof, she made her way across the tiles to where he was laying, stopping to look down at him. He wasn't asleep, she knew him well enough to know better than that, though he probably would have managed to fool anyone else who couldn't read him as well as she could. It was the entire reason why she'd been able to bring him out of that funk he'd been in, all but beating him back into normalcy. At least... she thought she had, but it was beginning to seem as though any progress she'd made was proving temporary at best. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her skirt, she nudged one foot against his shoulder.

~*~

He knew she was there, knew even before the shadow cast by her smaller form fell across his face and the toe of her shoe nudged none too gently at the point of his left shoulder. Scowling slightly, he cracked one amber-brown eye open to peer up at her back-lit figure where it leaned over his supine form, taking one fleeting moment to study the way the setting sun cast an areola of gold around her head. It was eerie, in a way. Almost like the halos in those old paintings you would see in museums, even though the momentary thought of Rukia with a halo made him snicker. Heh, she was about as angelic as he was, despite the fact that the sudden image of the petite shinigami in flowing white robes and limned in golden light seemed to stick in his mind.

Almost lazily, as though he could barely be bothered to flex the muscles to even move, he lifted one hand to his ear, hooking a finger around the thin white cord to pop the ear-bud out of his ear. It wasn't so much a courtesy to her – that would have indicated he cared about being courteous. He didn't – but more simply because if he couldn't hear what she said then she'd just say it louder, and then kick him for 'not listening', and right now he just wasn't in the mood for it. She was violating his space, and despite the fact that she did that almost daily, it irked him more right now than it normally did, perhaps because of the _weirdness_ that seemed to have sprung up between them.

Not even deigning to sit up and look at her properly, he raised one eyebrow slightly as he thumbed down the volume slightly on the iPod. She hadn't said anything yet, which meant one of two things. Either A. she was bored, and was expecting him to come up with something to entertain her, or B. she wanted his attention so that she could talk about something that he likely didn't want to talk about. He almost hoped it would be the former. At least if she wanted to try and beat money out of his arm or something like that, he knew how he was supposed to react to it.

“What?”

The grunted response came out perhaps harsher than he'd planned on, but that was fine with him. Hell, maybe if she thought he was in a really foul mood, she'd leave him the hell alone to brood in peace. He pondered that for a moment, then reconfigured his assumption as her toe impacted his ribs this time, harder than before as she glared at him with her hands on her hips. Obviously not. Scrambling back slightly, he fixed the girl with a dirty look.

“The hell was that for, you brat?”

She returned his scowl with a frown of her own. Ungrateful oaf, it didn't matter that she'd _expected_ him to respond that way, it was still rude and uncalled for and he deserved a sound thrashing for it. But that... she'd worry about later. Right now, there was something else more pressing that needed to be dealt with and that was the unsettled mood he persisted in carrying around. She understood – at least, she was relatively sure she did – that a good deal of it had to do with what had happened to Sado and Inoue, and while she couldn't blame him for feeling responsible, it was time to get over that and realize that no matter how he may have _felt_, that it was in no way his fault.

Ironic, she thought to herself, and a little bit hypocritical of her to be telling _him_ not to let guilt eat at him. But then, he hadn't actually been at fault, hadn't actually hurt anyone. She couldn't say the same for herself. But again, that was beside the point. Taking a step back to fix her violet gaze on him, she sighed and rolled her eyes slightly. Just enough to get his attention, to get the message across that she was irritated.

It worked, and she managed to gain the satisfaction of watching honey-brown eyes narrow slightly as his look got even fouler for just a moment. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cocked her head to one side.

“What's wrong?”

Subtlety wasn't really in either of their natures, she could use it when she needed to, but it always seemed wasted on him, mostly because he didn't have an appreciation for the tact and tended to only get more irritated and demand that she just “spit it out” rather than beating around the bush. Ichigo wasn't the type to appreciate all the subtle nuances, he always went straight to the heart of the matter. It was... refreshing, in most instances. A nice shaft of blunt honesty in a world that dwelt on so many shades of gray where opposing points of view and all the subtleties of politics and relationships muddied so much of the waters.

He flinched slightly at her question, not from the directness of it – that was one of the things he liked about Rukia, she never wasted time trying to pretty things up or find some nice polite way to say stuff – but more from the fact that apparently his luck had not been with him today and the purpose of her intrusion into his little bubble was the second option his mind had helpfully prepared. Great. Just fucking great. Sighing, he rolled his eyes and leaned back against his hands, tilting his head up to watch the painted clouds slide by across the heavens with a shrug.

She wasn't going to buy it if he said 'nothing'. He knew better than that, just as he knew that were this any other case, he'd probably have been able to talk to her about it. Or at least... about _all_ of it. Rukia was... different. He could talk to her in ways that he couldn't talk to anyone else, even despite all the fighting and arguing they did, they just had a connection that was unlike any of the bonds he had with any of his other friends, regardless of how long they'd known each other. But now... there wasn't really an easy way to explain it to her that didn't sound all weird in his head.

~*~

Watching him, she caught the barely noticable flinch at her question. The slight tremor of motion was all she needed to know that she'd struck a nerve, that it wasn't simply Ichigo being a moody teenage brat. There was something wrong, something bothering him, and obviously it was something that wasn't going to respond to the normal things she would do to cheer him up. Just the fact that he'd retreated like this, while not out of the ordinary for him, was enough of a red flag in her mind. Sighing, she simply shrugged her shoulders and turned, settling down onto the tiles beside him to hug her knees to her chest. If it was a case like this... then she couldn't just drag it out of him.

He'd tell her, that much she was confident of. Perhaps not in so many words, and perhaps not right away, but she knew him well enough to know that he would open up to her when he felt ready. It was the same when the subject of his mother came up. Rukia knew the basic details, knew from the information she'd gleaned what must have happened, but... she also knew there was a great deal more to the story, so many more layers of depth there that deserved to be left undisturbed until he decided it was time to let her in.

They sat like that for a while, silent and still, long enough that she stopped counting seconds and began counting stars as their twinkling points began to speckle the darkening sky overhead. She was beginning to think that perhaps she'd been wrong, that nothing was going to come of her endeavor, that she'd have to either beat it out of him or just accept that whatever it was would remain a mystery, when she felt him shift beside her, the hand in his pocket reaching up to slip behind his head and join it's mate.

“It's my fault. It isn't, but... it still is.”

She remained silent, simply listening. It didn't take any more words than that for her to know what he was talking about. Inoue. Sado. His friends, who had been so gravely injured by the Arrancar that he'd been powerless to fight against. Their injuries had taken such a toll on him that she almost hadn't recognized him that first reunion, standing in the window of their classroom. It had been the almost lost look in his eyes that had been her deciding point, as her foot had collided with his face before she dragged him off, pushing him and forcing him and driving him to fight the simple Hollow. Forcing him to face the fear within himself, the fear that he would fail, that he wouldn't be able to do what he'd sworn to himself that he'd do. Protect those close to him.

He'd shaken it off, and for awhile it had seemed as though her words had made their way through, had been all the difference he'd needed in order to snap back and find himself again. And even now, in spite of the brooding, she couldn't see that lost look returning to his eyes. He wasn't lost, he wasn't confused. Just... guilt-ridden. Frowning, she raised an arm and took a deep breath before the hard point of her elbow dug into his gut.

Coughing and sputtering, Ichigo shot up into a sitting position, gasping for breath before he rounded on her with a growl only to be met with her upraised palm in his face.

“Stop it. Quit wallowing in your own self-pity and realize something. They're both still alive. And the reason they're both still alive is because of _you_. Because you were there to protect them both. That's more than I can say for myself.”

Her words weren't harsh, but they were calculated to shock. Rukia didn't talk much about her past, it just wasn't in her nature to bring up things like that, but in this instance she couldn't help but feel it was warranted. And it seemed to work, as the rage drained from his face, leaving behind only a shocked lack of comprehension combined with confusion and befuddlement. Seeing that she'd made her point, the shinigami lowered her hand and simply continued, her voice soft.

“Renji is the only friend I have left from my childhood. The others... died. Some from the simple hardships of the world we lived in, others... the victims of Hollows. But the one thing that was always the same was that I couldn't do anything. I couldn't stop it, I couldn't even try and _help_. But rather than dwelling on that, I kept going. Kept living, because to do anything else would have been a dishonour to _them_.”

Ichigo opened his mouth to say something, to say _anything_ to somehow retort back – and in doing so, to keep clinging to his own guilt – that her story was completely irrelevant, because his friends weren't dead, and beyond that that she had been a stupid kid so of _course_ she wouldn't have been able to do anything, but somehow... any retort that he pulled up out of his mind just sounded hollow and, to be honest, downright mean. And while he wasn't about to argue that he could be a jerk sometimes, that level of mean just... wasn't him.

His anger and frustration dampened somewhat, he settled instead for a noncommittal grunt and a sulky look as he turned his attention back to the sky, trying not to take too much notice of her expression. If he did, she might actually think he was paying attention to what she was saying. Which he wasn't. Shrugging his shoulders, he hooked his arms around his knees loosely, much in the same way she was sitting. There wasn't really anything he could say at the moment, so he simply kept his mouth shut, waiting for her to say something else, for her voice to break back through the low-key hum of voices and instruments still filtering through his ears from the iPod's speakers.

~*~

Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Rukia nodded to herself with a sigh of quiet relief. Still sulky, still broody, but she could tell that she'd at least managed to get through to him again. Leaning back on her hands, she cast violet eyes up towards the stars, watching as the last faint traces of sunlit colour painted their way across the hazy clouds, turning them into an aurora of pink and lavender. Closing her eyes, she let the light breeze play across her face, it's gentle fingers ruffling black hair. This was nice, an enjoyable change to their usual fare of fighting and hunting and arguing. It wasn't often that the two of them got a chance to simply just _be_ together like this, like normal friends, and it would have been a lie to say that she didn't covet those small windows of time.

Shifting her attention to his larger figure, she let her eyes trace over the features she'd grown so familiar with over the short 3 months time-span. It was hard to believe at times, that this boy – no, it really wasn't fair to call him that, he'd seen more than most men twice his age had ever had to deal with – this _man_, she corrected herself, that she'd simply encountered at random one night had come to take such a prominent place in her life. That in such a short time, they'd grown so close, become such good partners that they could read each other with hardly any difficulty, that they understood each other so well that times like these, silent though they may have been, were by no means lacking in so many levels of non-verbal communication. Chuckling slightly, she let her eyes drift over unruly orange hair, down his forehead past eyebrows that were nearly always pulled into a scowl, continuing their way down his face in careful study. Ichigo wasn't bad looking, a fact that she wasn't going to deny – though she _would_ have denied the amount of time she'd spent mulling over that fact on occasion – and it wasn't at all hard to imagine how he'd look in a few years, with the last traces of boyhood gone from his face.

“Oi. The hell're you staring at?”

His voice jolted her out of her momentary reverie and she blinked in startlement, the heat rising slightly in her face as she realized two things. One, she'd been practically ogling him and two, he'd noticed. Fighting down the horrified widening of her eyes, she made a desperate attempt to regain her shattered dignity with a hmph, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing away. Hopefully in the dimming light, he hadn't noticed the way she was sure her cheeks were burning with colour.

“I wasn't staring! I was just... looking at that.”

Nodding her head with a jerk towards the iPod, she continued. He'd buy it, she was relatively sure. And if he didn't, then she'd just have to kick him and take his mind off of the fact that she'd let her guard down long enough for him to catch her staring at him.

“We don't have things like that music-machine, I was just trying to see how it attaches to your ears.”

One orange eyebrow raised up slightly in a skeptical fashion as he considered her words. It _sounded_ like typical Rukia-babble, and he had to admit that it _did_ make sense for her to not have the slightest idea how the hell an iPod worked – though he couldn't help but feel that it was just a little bit fucked up that a place like Soul Society could have computers and TVs for surveilance, but didn't have basic things like music-players or ovens. Rolling his eyes with a shrug, he shook his head slightly. She didn't have to get all bent out of shape about it, hell the way she was acting you would have thought she was staring at _him_. Which was just stupid. Picking up the other earbud from where it still hung abandoned from the cord running up his chest, he waggled it in the air for her to see.

“It doesn't 'attach' to my ear, it's just a little speaker that goes inside it.”

Her puzzled look just made him scowl and heave a frustrated sigh. And she wondered why she got on his nerves at times. It wasn't _really_ that hard to understand, was it? Without much of a thought as to what he was doing, he reached over and stuck the little white ear-piece into her ear, brushing a stray lock of black out of the way as he did so.

“Look, it just fits in there like this, see? And then the music plays out of this part.”

Holding up the small white rectangle in it's black case, he thumbed the volume dial again, watching as her eyes widened in almost childish wonder at the sudden onslought of music, any arguments she may have been creating in her head seeming to just die as she listened in rapt attention to the iPod. It was... strange, in a way. Seeing Rukia like that, seeing her look... happy, it just wasn't something he was really used to. Sure, he'd seen her squeal with glee the last time they'd gone to the mall and she'd seen that enormous Chappy doll in the window, the one that was as big as her and that his idiot dad had insisted on buying as “a present of love for my beloved third daughter Rukia-chan”, but that wasn't entirely real happiness. Just like so much of the persona she presented to the world wasn't real. But this... right now, was different. She wasn't pretending, wasn't acting the part of some air-headed little schoolgirl. Right now, she was just Rukia. Just herself, free of all the lies and facades. He liked her better that way, when she didn't try to pretend to be someone else, try to put on a face that – in his opinion – didn't fit her at all.

Swallowing past a sudden unexpected lump in his throat as he watched the petite shinigami, he bit his lower lip and turned his attention back to the iPod. It was probably just the novelty of the device that had her so enthralled – he really couldn't picture her as a Three Day's Grace sort of person – seeing as he had doubts that his taste in music mirrored her own. Pressing the pad of his thumb to the wheel, he spun the control, amber eyes watching as the list of words scrolled across the screen. There wasn't much on here that he would consider 'girly music', but his tastes were varied enough that he was relatively certain he could find something that would probably be more to her liking. Frowning as he continued scrolling through folders, he finally found the one he was looking for. Pressing the wheel with a click, he nudged her shoulder slightly to get her attention.

“You'll probably like this better.”

Ichigo watched as she paused, head cocked slightly to the side as the song changed, waiting and watching her expression as the harsher German vocals gave way to a softer, more melodic chorus. Hopefully she'd like it, it was different than the normal stuff he listened to, despite the fact that he tended to have a pretty widely varied range of musical preferences. Either way, she hadn't hit him yet and she seemed to be listening to it. A moment later, he was rewarded by her soft intake of breath as the expression on her face changed to one of rapt wonder, violet eyes slipping closed as she nodded her head softly to the beat. In that moment, she suddenly seemed so different to him, so unlike the Rukia he knew from their everyday dealings and more like some otherworldly creature deigning to rest herself upon this plane for a moment. It was... eerie, almost, yet somehow so captivating that he couldn't look away.

~*~

To say that she'd expected Ichigo to have no taste in music would have been a lie. He wasn't a completely uncultured lout, and it _was_ true that he had good taste when it came to a number of things. That being said, even considering her assumption that the orange-headed teen knew what good music was – it was always debatable, especially with some of the cacaphonic noise that she'd heard other humans refer to as 'music' in her time in Karakura – she had to admit that she'd underestimated his affinity for beauty when it came to sound. She didn't recognize the language that the song was in, just that it was foreign, and that the words had a definite gutteral quality to them that, while very different from her native Japanese, nonetheless had a certain appeal to it. The verses were almost more spoken than sang, but the chorus was a wonderfully soaring, lilting melody that wove in and out like light through a garden.

Closing her eyes softly, she let her head sway gently to the refrain, losing herself in the soft harmonics. This was... nice. And not just the music, but the entire situation. Sitting here, with Ichigo, and just... _being_ there. Just being together, not fighting or arguing, but just being two people listening to a song on a rooftop. It had a normalcy to it that Rukia couldn't help but find herself being drawn towards, perhaps because it was still so different from the life she was used to, or perhaps just because her recent near-death experience at the hands of the Soukyouku simply made the brief moment seem all the more precious.

Almost without volition, her head shifted to the side to rest against the firm warmth of Ichigo's shoulder as the song clicked over softly in her ear, another similar song beginning to play. Had she really been thinking about it, she would have realized how suggestive her posture was, how much the two of them at the moment resembled any other young couple enjoying a nice bit of quality almost-romantic time to themselves and done something about it. She and Ichigo weren't like that, they were just... just partners, just comrades. But right now... there was a closeness that she couldn't really define or understand. It was like so much in their relationship, it just _was_.

~*~

Ichigo froze as her head bumped softly against his shoulder, eyes widening in shock as he turned his head slightly to look down at the top of her dark head pillowed against him. The simple fact that Kuchiki Rukia was sitting there, leaning her head on his shoulder, almost didn't compute in his brain that was doggedly determined to keep her person situated far across his mental plane from anything remotely resembling sweet or cute. Rukia just.... wasn't _cute_, and she certainly didn't have any sort of relationship with him that would warrant this almost-snuggling.

Swallowing slowly, not only due to his own nerves but because he was relatively certain that were this not a weird twilight-zoneish episode of his already complicated life that he would almost definitely be beaten later over this, he contemplated his next move. He didn't want to move, and dislodge her – if she _were_ doing this on purpose, then doing so might just piss her off and then he'd be hit for sure – but at the same time he was relatively sure that if he _didn't_ move, she'd get some sort of weird idea and hit him anyway.

After a few indeterminably long moments, he settled for shifting his shoulders slightly to nudge her for a moment before calling her name softly. At least that way, he was less likely to startle her and then earn a beating for _that_ as well. And if she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder... well, he just wasn't going to consider that option seeing as the most likely conclusion to _that_ seemed to be the idea of him spending the night on the roof so as not to disturb her.

“Rukia....”

~*~

His voice drew her easily out of the half-trance she'd been drifting into, her eyes closed as the music simply carried her away with it's melody. Blinking in startled surprise, she looked up at his face for a moment, the confusion muddling her senses as the seconds ticked by. As the fog cleared, she grew more conscious of several things. That she was cuddled up against his arm, her cheek pillowed against the warmth of his shoulder. That he was staring down at her with a rather puzzled look on his face. And above all, that she'd been practially _snuggling_ him for some undetermined amount of time. Rukia could feel the blood rush into her face as violet eyes widened and she jerked her head away, nearly snapping her own neck in her hurry to divert her line of sight from his fast enough for him to not notice the way her breath had caught, the way she'd been momentarily frozen like a deer in the headlights.

Shifting uncomfortably, she fidgeted in the sudden overwhelming thickness of the silence that dragged on between them. Things had been a little weird before, but now.... now the atmosphere was almost oppressive in it's awkwardness. She could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders, feel it in the tense way the air hung around them in spite of the light breeze. Sucking in a deep breath, she searched frantically through her mind for something, _anything_ to say to break the silence, to make things normal again.

Before she had the chance, Ichigo did it for her, easily pulling his arm from between them to point overhead as a sudden white streak shot across the sky, fading into the deepening navy.

“Shooting star. That's unusual, seeing one from here. Normally the lights in town make it so you can't see them.”

Turning her head towards the direction he pointed in, she studied the fading trail for a moment. It was hard to imagine a place where you couldn't see shooting stars. They'd been a constant when she was growing up with Renji on the streets of Inuzuri, on those clear brilliant nights when the two of them would climb up onto a high tree branch and count the stars. Renji had always told her that shooting stars made dreams come true, if you were ever lucky enough to catch one. A world without that just... sounded sad.

“Make a wish.”

Glancing up at him with a curious look, she cocked her head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

One hand came up to smack across his forehead. She couldn't be serious. How did you _not_ know that you were supposed to make a wish on falling stars? Heaving an irritated sigh, he rolled his eyes and fixed her with a look that plainly spoke of how much she was trying his patience right now.

“How the hell do you _not_ know you're supposed to make a wish on a shooting star? I thought all girls knew that sort of mushy crap. Everyone does it when they're kids. Yuzu even has a little book from when we'd make wishes when we were little. She'd write them all down, so we could see which ones came true.”

He expected a smart-ass remark – or a fist to the face, that would have made sense too – but what he got instead was a slightly confused look for the moment or two before her expression settled into one of almost disappointment as she looked up at the spangled sky overhead.

“Oh. I always thought they made dreams come true. I guess not, though...”

Watching her expression, it almost made him feel bad, as though somehow he'd taken something away from her, like a grownup telling a little kid there wasn't a Santa Claus. Scratching the back of his head awkwardly, he groped for something to say, something to maybe make things a bit better without sounding too corny.

“That's.... just stupid. Stars don't make dreams come true, you make your _own_ dreams come true. Quit being all depressed and shit. It's annoying.”

Perhaps not exactly what he'd pictured, but then his mouth and his brain seldom seemed to agree – just as that one little portion of his mind seldom agreed with the rest of his subconsciousness – but regardless of that fact, his words seemed to at least have some degree of effect, as the sadness left her face a bit and she turned to him with a smile and a nod.

“Yeah... I guess you're right about that.”

Blinking in surprise, he simply stared at her for a moment, watching the way the lights from the town glinted off of her hair, shining lights into her eyes. She looked almost as ethereal as she had the first night he'd seen her, when she'd come walking into his room with that superior expression on her face, acting like she owned the damn world. Swallowing, he felt his heart speed up, it's rhythm thundering in his ears as, almost without volition, he could feel himself leaning in, tilting his head down. Her eyes widened fractionally, but she didn't move and simply stayed frozen, her face tilted up towards his.

“Oi, Ichi-nii! Rukia! It's dinnertime!”

Yuzu's shrill voice broke through the sudden haze of the moment like a knife through butter. Blinking in shock, violet eyes refocused, meeting brown for a moment as two sets of cheeks began to redden at their proximity. In a matter of seconds, the scant few inches between them had been abruptly enlarged to several feet as Ichigo tugged the iPod's cord back and scrambled to his feet with a mumbled few words. Glancing back over his shoulder at the equally-shaken shinigami, he raised an eyebrow at her.

“You coming or not?”

Without waiting for her answer, he loped over to the edge of the roof and hopped down onto the eave to swing through the open window, trying to ignore the roaring in his ears and the racing of his heart.

Author's Notes: Hello all, and I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Yup, Ichi almost kissed her there, and she knows it, even though she isn't real sure what to make of it. Don't worry, he'll figure it out soon enough, and Grimmjow shoving an arm through her chest and then nearly cero-ing her head certainly won't hurt in regards to making our beloved berry give some real thought to how important his little midget is to him. I know the buildup is a little bit slow, but what sets Genesis apart from most of my other IchiRuki is that it's _supposed_ to be slow, because it's supposed to be believable. The first part is a bit tougher for me simply because it was a part that was never part of the original RP-canon that Genesis is drawn from. Myself and my RP buddy for this story never really fleshed out the beginning portions, we simply referenced them at different points through the RP. That being the case, I am having to rewrite the beginning from scratch, which is a tad bit harder than I would have expected, especially in keeping with the somewhat deeper, more serious nature that Genesis has. There's plenty of fun and amusing parts, but overall the mood is more 'adult' in nature - not smut, different kind of adult lol - , mostly because Genesis is a story that deals a lot with growing up.

Oh, and for anyone who is wondering, whenever I use pop culture references ie songs or anything else I will do my best to include that down here. So the songs they were both listening to, for anyone interested:  
Ichigo - Pain by Three Days Grace  
Rukia - Anderwelt by E Nomine

Genesis also tends to take me a long time to write, simply because it goes so in depth. That will change around chapter.... I don't know, prolly 7 or 8ish, after it gets past the part that deals with actual canon because anyone who has tried to work what's basically a rewrite of canon events to delve deeper into them can tell you how tough that actually is lol.


	2. And when the clock strikes twelve, eternity will open

“Dammit, I said let me the hell go!”  
It was odd, in a way, how strangely nostalgic the taste of something like asphalt could be. And not only because a mental diatribe on the various particulars of tar, sand, granite, and the myriad of other things that he assumed made up the black stone-like gunk that was standard fare for city streets was anything of more than passing interest. No, he had not in fact spent hours of fun and enjoyable time as a child licking the pavement, it just stood to reason that after the number of times his face had met with that same rather unyielding surface – generally at the hand of someone _else's_ will – one would eventually become rather well-acquainted with it's many flavours and varieties.  
Tensing his neck with a growl, Ichigo shoved against the deceptively fragile-looking hand that was at this moment keeping his face in extremely close proximity to that same black surface. It garnered him little in the way of success, perhaps because the idiot soul in Rukia's gigai seemed to have the same sort of ridiculous overkill strength that Kon possessed.  
Only, for this one, it was in her _arms_.  
Snarling out another curse, he flailed one arm helplessly as the rabbit-minded bitch – God, he was never going to look at Alice in Wonderland the same fucking way again – giggled in that high-pitched laughing tone of hers and proceeded to test the reflexes in his other arm. Or rather, to test the _limits_ of those same reflexes as she bent his shoulder in a way that he – with the amount of medical knowledge he'd gleaned from days spent helping in his father's clinic – was relatively certain that same shoulder was NOT meant to move. Biting back the yelp of pain as something popped unpleasantly, he wedged his other hand against the concrete, doing his best to offset whatever the hell she was doing with his left arm. Maybe if he could knock her off balance, then at least she'd stop treating HIS body like it was made of fucking pipe-cleaners.  
Glancing back down the road, he made another effort to free himself, his mind reaching out as if it could somehow slip away from his body and run to the place where he wanted to be. Where he _needed_ to be. The place where Rukia was, only a couple of blocks down and around the corner, just out of his eye shot but close enough that he could _sense_ it, that he – even with the shitty way he normally sensed reiatsu – could feel the angry swirl of her icy reiatsu mingling with the dangerous other that he knew was the Arrancar. The thought of it made his blood run cold, the images swirling together into his mind in what he fervently hoped was a poorly-conceived facsimile of what was really happening.  
He'd watched it, hell he'd just _stood_ there – OK, so he'd been on the ground, with the damned Chappy thing trying to see what directions he bent in – when the freak with the zipper-like teeth had struck, the points of his nails, those same nails that had nearly been the undoing of Chad , thank whatever gods existed that he'd _gotten there in time_ \-- slamming into the flat of her blade as she drew it in hurried defense, the force of the bastard's strike sending them both skidding back in a cloud of dust as the Arrancar bore forward, pushing Rukia back. It was too close, too dangerous and too frightening for him to just sit there and watch it. He had to get up, he had to _help_ and it didn't matter that Rukia was being so damned stubborn and insisting on taking him on by herself.  
He understood what she was trying to prove, what she was trying to get him to deal with. He wasn't stupid, and beyond that it wasn't far beyond the scope of the imagination to see that what she wanted him to see was that she wasn't some helpless little thing who needed to be protected. That she could fight just as well as he could, that she wasn't a damsel in distress. She was his _partner_, his equal.  
_I **get** that, already, what the hell does she have to prove?!_  
Maybe it wasn't even _about_ her fighting or not fighting, he sure as hell wasn't going to try and get into her head to figure out what made her tick. And not just because he didn't _need_ to, but because that would have been a waste of his time. Hell, inside Rukia's head was probably some pink monstrosity populated entirely by various incarnations of Chappy. It was enough to make him shudder at the thought, if he hadn't been so thoroughly pinned by a rather brutish incarnation of that same rabbit – though this one was at least a little bit nicer to look at, by virtue of the fact that it was in Rukia's gigai – that it was a feat simply to _breathe_.  
As the reiatsu from down the street flared again, it's colour and taste undeniably Rukia's – god Damn the stupid crazy rabbit, it needed to get OFF of him right now -- Ichigo gritted his teeth and reluctantly allowed his thoughts to stray momentarily away from the immediate need to get free, preferably with all of his limbs intact and functional, and back to what it had been thoughtfully turning over since before they had even gone rushing from his bedroom. That thought being the fact that he – despite how much he would have loved to deny it and pretend it was some sort of doppleganger or something – had nearly kissed Rukia the other day. The sheer thought in and of itself was enough to send chills down his spine, not because Rukia was really all that repulsive – she wasn't, not at all – but simply because it made things all the more blatantly clear to him. And those 'things' went right back to the initial problem he'd had before she'd even come _up_ on the roof that evening in the first place.  
Damn Rukia, it was _still_ all her fault.  
Only... just like before, it really wasn't. And while it would have been easy to blame it on her, it wasn't so easy to escape the fact that it had been HE who had been leaning into HER personal space with the intent to initiate something that he even denied himself that he'd ever _thought_ of. He had, he just persisted in his denial, a denial that seemed to stubbornly stick in his mind in spite of the lingering thoughts that swirled unbidden through his subconsciousness. What if he hadn't stopped? Would he have meant it, whatever a kiss was supposed to _mean_ when it was given to someone who you really... didn't _know_ what they were to you? What would _she_ have done?  
Things hadn't really even been awkward at dinner that night, not anymore than they already tended to be whenever she was in the same vicinity as his family and he had to constantly be on guard lest she say or do something that would be a completely dead giveaway that the girl they had lovingly welcomed into their home wasn't necessarily what she'd claimed to be. And in the days that had followed since then, nothing had changed. Their relationship had continued on it's normal pace, the same smiles – faked, on her part – , the same yelling – again, on her part usually –, and the same scowls – those were on his part, though he had to admit she could give him a run for his money at times – as always. As though nothing had changed. And maybe he was just being paranoid, and nothing _had_ changed.  
Either way, she hadn't brought it up, hadn't seemed bothered or phased by it, and hadn't even mentioned that evening though she _had_ asked – demanded, really. Rukia didn't _ask_ him for things – that if she was to procure her own 'music-playing machine', that he fill it with the songs they had listened to the other night. But other then that fairly typical Rukia-esque demand that he do something for her that she could have easily done herself, she'd treated him exactly the same as she always did. And in a way... he was glad for that. Glad that there was no awkwardness, no furtive looks and embarrassed glances and especially no extra punches and kicks for what he had idiotically almost done.  
_It's better that way, at least. Normal..._  
But the most frustrating thing was that, while he should have been overjoyed – if he were ever to ascribe such a word to himself – that things were the same, that nothing had changed between them, and his actions hadn't done irreparable damage to the bond they shared... there was one nagging thought that he couldn't shake.  
He _wanted_ to know if she was still thinking about it.  
That in and of itself made no sense, mostly because by all rights he should have heaved a sigh of relief and whistled a tune at the fact that she'd simply gone on with her day and her life as though it never happened. But in spite of that, he couldn't shake the curiosity, the morbid sense of wonder at what she was actually thinking about it. He could bring it up himself, of course, but that wasn't likely to be a good idea. If he brought it up and she _had_ been thinking about it, then what? It wasn't like he was going to talk about it or any crazy shit like that. And if she _hadn't_ been dwelling on the fact that he'd almost taken leave of his senses to press lips against hers, and he brought it up, then she'd know that _he_ had been thinking about it. And that in and of itself would lead to one of two things. Her jumping to a stupid conclusion that would sound like it came straight out of one of those corny melodramatic romance manga she was always reading, OR her jumping to a stupid conclusion and beating him for some imagined perversion that he didn't possess. Either one sounded rather unappealing when compared to his list of options. God, things were so simple before she'd had to go and get herself almost executed.

~*~  
She'd seen the look on Sado's face as the tall man ran past, seen the way his eyes were shadowed by something darker that what she was used to seeing. It was something she recognized, something she understood as the pain of being forced to step aside and know that your strength is un-needed, that your endeavor, no matter how true of heart, is being rejected. Those thoughts had only been confirmed by Ichigo's words and – even more so than his words – by the look on his face and the light in his amber eyes. He was tense, much tenser than she'd seen him before a fight, and it didn't take much thought to understand exactly what had happened.  
He was afraid, but not the sort of fear that normally plagued someone in his situation. For, as afraid as she could tell that he was, there was a determination intermingling with the fear, a stubborn and angry determination that this time, no matter what happened, he would prevail. It was a dangerous determination, dangerous in it's intensity and single mindedness She'd seen it before, and beyond that she'd seen the resultant tragedy it invariably left behind. Setting her teeth against her lower lip with a slight sigh as one slim hand rummaged in the pocket of her skirt, fingers closing around the small tube with it's rounded top, she'd decided what was necessary, almost without much consideration. Pulling out the tube of Ginkongan, she'd stepped forward and ordered Ichigo back, walking right over his startled complaints. He hadn't understood, as always, and even her explanation had been met with a somewhat blank stare.  
Rukia could read the startlement on his face when she swallowed the apple-green ball, closing her eyes and feeling the pulse of the reiatsu as her spiritual form stepped forward out of the gigai with a barely audible pop, the artificial body dropping to a crouch behind her as she took a deep breath, pausing for a moment to relish the feeling of freedom that always came with discarding the false shell that allowed normal humans to see her. He'd stood there in stunned silence for a moment before asking an equally obvious question that she'd nevertheless taken the time to answer. But her answers had been cut short as the white-garbed adversary made his move, darting forward in a movement reminiscent of shunpou, one arm outstretched towards her in a knife hand strike.  
Bringing up her blade, she'd braced the flat of the zanpakutou against her upper arm, a fact that she'd been glad of as she felt his momentum and his power strike against the steel with deadly force, driving her back down the street, her feet skidding along the pavement with the motion. She could see his muscles tense beneath the white linen as they flew, and as he stopped, drawing back the hand for another strike, she brought her feet up to push off in a leap that sent her backwards towards the nearby telephone pole. Pivoting in midair, she felt the firm wood beneath the soles of her waraji, tensing with the impact for a split second before using her own momentum to her advantage. Pushing off, she dove in a downward strike, bringing the edge of her blade to bear against his arm.  
It was interesting, if one put aside the small fact of the risk of death, to see an Arrancar up close. They in and of themselves weren't something new, the textbooks she'd studied while in academy had spoken of those of the broken mask, of their origins and of their scarcity in the world of Hueco Mundo. Shinigami lived and died for years without ever seeing or hearing of one. This one looked far more like a human than any other she had seen or heard of in any of the drawings or firsthand accounts of Arrancar in the history of Soul Society. Those creatures had been unstable, incomplete, their forms far more closely resembling their Hollow backgrounds. But now, with the aid of Aizen Sousuke and the Hougyouku, they were different. This Arrancar looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal man. Well, normal if one didn't take into account the eerie zipper-like way his teeth interlocked, or the large oblong mask fragment of white bone that sat atop his wheaten hair like some sort of unusual helmet, one side of it wrapped in pale green cloth. It was... eerie, in a way, how human he appeared, enough to send chills down her spine.  
“I'm Arrancar Sixteen. Di-Roy.”  
She nodded faintly at his introduction, before opening her mouth to do the same, blade still braced against his arm.  
“Thirteenth division's-”  
Her return of his introduction was cut off by his hand as he held it up in a dismissive gesture before zippered teeth grinned derisively at her.  
“Don't bother. If I had to hear the names of everyone I kill, it would take way too long.”  
As he introduced himself and then summarily dismissed her, it was a simple matter to in turn dismiss him, the familiar release phrase floating off her lips as she stepped back and held her zanpakutou in front of her, spinning the blade in it's graceful arc as the air chilled and the pristine white slid along the length of it, spraying off of the end of the pommel to form the silken ribbon that floated on the night air. Taking advantage of his surprise, she pressed foot to pavement in a quick shunpou, slipping behind him with barely a whisper, the white blade curving into a long sweep as a faint dusting of frost followed it's path through the air like shimmering curtains of glitter and the glowing blue-white circle inscribed itself onto the ground, the firmament cracking as it's temperature dropped with the ice creeping across it's surface.  
His response was as predictable as she could have expected, as his black and white shoes pressed against the ice before muscles tensed and he was airborne, hovering over her with the same derisive laugh, his eyes focused on hers as zippered enamel cracked in a mockery of a smile.  
“Tough luck, shinigami. My true battlefield is the sky! A sword that can freeze the ground can't hit an airborne target!”  
Violet eyes met his with a look of calm contemplation, the corner of her mouth twitching upward almost smugly as the Arrancar – Di-Roy, he'd said his name was – crowed with laughter, helmeted head thrown back in triumph, the pale green wrappings of his mask fluttering in the evening air. Stepping back, she straightened up and raised her head to look at him, finely-honed senses registering the slight shift, the transference of power and the faint tingling in the back of her mind as Sode no Shirayuki's power gathered, changing before her. The ring of ice coating the ground began to glow with a faint white light that brightened with each passing second.  
“What a pity, then.”  
Her adversary had hardly the time to contemplate the words that dropped from Rukia's lips, or the faintly smug smile that curved those same lips as the glow intensified before abruptly shooting up into a pillar of soft light, striking the heavens as the ice itself shot up, turning light to crystalline glass and encasing his form within the smooth column of frost.  
“Sode no Shirayuki doesn't merely freeze the ground.”  
Rukia continued speaking, even as she watched the pillar of ice crack, felt his reiatsu fade as his body crumbled in the wake of her attack. It was only polite, after all, to finish the sentence that she had started, even if his ears were no longer capable of registering the sounds and processing them into usable speech.  
“Everything within this circle, from ground to heavens... is within Sode no Shirayuki's frozen domain.”  
She stepped aside as the ice crumbled with a thunderous crack, chunks of the pillar sliding against each other as they toppled, those same large pieces of frosted cold breaking up into icy dust as they fell and the circle dissipated. With a flourish of her zanpakutou, she tossed aside the last of the frosted droplets before turning and heading back towards Ichigo. He was still there, it was a simple matter for her ears – now that the battle was over and there was nothing more pressing to concern herself with – to pick up on his angry shouts, as well as Chappy's lilting tone as the ginkon kept the substitute pinned to the ground, apparently by whatever means she deemed necessary. It was hard not to snicker slightly as she caught Chappy's assertion that his 'arm will go bweak' if he didn't stop squirming. Ichigo was entirely too tense, it was the entire reason why she'd insisted that he fall back and leave this one to her. People who entered battle that tense.... died.  
Stepping around the rubble that had resulted when Di-Roy drove her backwards, she stopped and frowned down at the two where they were sprawled in a heap, Chappy sitting on his back and bending his arm in what she couldn't imagine was a very comfortable position, especially given the look on his face as he flailed against the gigai, not to mention his loud yells of pain. Taking a moment to relish his discomfort – it was about time he had to sit on his ass and let someone _else_ take care of things for a change – she smoothed the slight grin from her face and rested her free hand on her hip, Sode no Shirayuki's white length gripped in her other hand as the ribbon curled around her.  
“What are you fools doing?”  
If she had expected Ichigo to congratulate her – hell, to even acknowledge her strength – she was wrong. But that would have been IF she'd expected it. Which she hadn't. As such, his stunned look as he raised his head to look at her, as though surprised and shocked that not only had she come walking back the way she had, but that she was completely unharmed wasn't much of a surprise. Nor was the question that poured from his mouth as brown eyes blinked at her – as much as he _could_ look at her with Chappy sitting on his back and holding his arm behind him – as he inquired as to what became of the Arrancar.  
“Of course I beat him. Would I have come back if I hadn't?”  
Rukia could feel the vein throb slightly in her forehead at his idiotic statement. Did he really think that lowly of her abilities that he was _surprised_ that she could hold her own? Gritting her teeth against the rapidly increasing desire to plant the sole of her waraji in the center of her face and twist her ankle to grind his head further into the ground – Chappy had done a fairly decent job, she could tell – she instead turned away with a haughty look and a dismissive glare. Of course she had beaten him, the Arrancar had been ridiculously simple to overcome and his power fairly negligible, a thought that continued to stick in her mind. Based on what Hitsugaya-taichou and the others had stated, the power levels of the Arrancar should have been significantly more than that. And while she couldn't deny that she was glad for the ease with which she'd been able to win, things didn't add up.

Turning to the side, she raised her arm, gently resting the white blade of Sode no Shirayuki against her shoulder, taking a deep breath and allowing her mind to wander as Chappy explained something to him. Though she wasn't _really_ paying attention to what the ginkon was saying, she caught enough snatches of phrase to put the pieces together. Helpfully – at least, she assumed that was the rabbit-minded soul's purpose – Chappy was detailing her zanpakutou to her substitute, as well as filling the orange-head in on facts that Rukia herself, despite what she was certain many believed, was aware of. It didn't bother her anymore, the fact that her brother had seen to it that she never be considered for an officer's ranking. The fact, when it had come to light years before, had mystified her and made little sense. For a Kuchiki, a ranking officer's position would have been only natural, something that would have brought honour to the clan and honour to her name as well. She had spent years blaming her own insufficiencies for the lack of promotion, and when she had found out, entirely by accident, that it was her adoptive brother's doing, she had simply assumed that he felt her skills too paltry, too insignificant. That she would only serve to bring embarrassment to a family that wished to avoid such things.  
Her near-execution had changed that, as it had changed so many things in her life, the relationship between she and Kuchiki Byakuya to say the least. Now, knowing what she knew of her own past, as well as the past that had transpired between her brother and his wife, the woman who had been her true sister, she understood his actions. Understood that while her stoic and cold elder sibling could not truly demonstrate the care he held for her, the feelings were evident in other ways. Understood that having her removed from consideration for higher-ranking positions was simply his way of protecting her. Of ensuring that his promise to Hisana remained intact as he guarded the little sister she had abandoned years ago.  
Those days in Soul Society had changed much more than the relationship between her brother and her. They had changed _her_, and above that, they had changed Ichigo. Closing her eyes, she reluctantly allowed her mind to go back to the expression she'd seen on his face when she'd first arrived, as well as the look in Sado's eyes as the dark-skinned man had run past. Setting her teeth against her lower lip, she sucked in a breath of contemplation. Ichigo didn't understand, didn't know how to step outside his own viewpoint and consider things from the sidelines, and it wasn't really all that surprising. He'd never _been_ on the sidelines, he'd always been thrust into the center of everything, having to be the one to pull the weight, the one to carry the hardest of the burdens. It was one of the things that the shinigami felt she could never truly make up to him, no matter what she did or how hard she tried. His single-minded determination and obstinance were what made him strong, especially when combined with the regard and care he had for his comrades.  
But right now... those things were weakening him. Weakening him while they intermingled and twisted themselves into his fear and his anger and guilt at himself over his past inability to protect those same people he held so precious. He'd _failed_, in his mind. Failed himself, but more importantly, failed _them_. And his resolve to not do so again had manifested itself in a cruelly exclusive need to do this alone. To push them aside and restrict them to the safe confines of the sidelines where _he_ knew they'd be safe, where he could accept that they would stay safe and uninvolved. Only... that wasn't the answer to this. In doing so, he was forgetting a crucial fact.  
They could fight too.  
He was forgetting that they could fight too, that they _had_ fought as well, fought just as hard as he had when their ragtag group had stormed Soul Society, her rescue the only thing in their minds as that goal pushed aside fear and hesitation and that they'd _all_ played a part in the battles that had transpired. And while no one would have argued that perhaps his part was larger, that in the end it had come down to his strength, his willpower... neither could he have done so without their support. And _that_ was what Kurosaki Ichigo couldn't see right now, blinded as he was by his own guilt and insecurity.  
Sighing to herself as his yells of protest, directed at the gigai trying to bend him into an approximation of one of those snack foods – pretzels, she thought they were called. He'd treated her to one once – grew ever louder, she paused to whisper the mental command as the reiatsu shifted again and Sode no Shirayuki resealed itself into the familiar katana. Sliding the blade back into it's sheath, she turned to the two of them with a slight glare.  
“Are you two quite done yet? I think that's enough, so you can stop now and-”  
~*~  
Any further chastisement from Rukia was brushed aside with the sudden and angry press of reiatsu that thickened the air with a heady and oppressive sensation. Wrenching himself away from the gigai and it's twisted sense of humour, Ichigo surged to his feet, eyes widening at the thickness and strength of the spiritual pressure that seemed to come out of nowhere. Despite it's similarity to the one they'd just faced, it was on an entirely different level, the sheer weight of it beyond anything they'd experienced before as it bore down on them. Trying to control the sudden surge of fear that always came with facing such a strong killing intent – it wasn't like he was actually _afraid_ of it, it was just.... the way it worked – Ichigo swallowed past the lump in his throat as he felt his muscles tense in anticipation of whatever was to come, looking around for the source of the power signature.  
“The hell? Di Roy got killed, huh?”  
The drawling voice from above drew his attention and his head whipped around in a blur of orange to focus brown eyes on the speaker, his white-garbed form hovering high above them in the air, hands lazily stuck into the pockets of his hakama as he regarded them with the same sort of amusement as that of a predator watching his prey realize that they've been caught. The Arrancar looked human, save for the hole in the center of his abdomen and the half-jaw of a mask that remained attached to his right cheek. Sky-blue hair flowed back in an unruly manner from his forehead, spiking up in a manner that was almost similar to Ichigo's own hair, that same blue mirrored in the markings – they almost resembled Ikkaku's – on either side of dark blue eyes. But what was chilling, more so than his human appearance, was the sheer killing intent that the man radiated, the malevolent reiatsu seeping from him in oppressive waves that the substitute shinigami didn't have any trouble recognizing.  
Laughing, the bone mandible moving with his jaw in an eerie mimicry of the Hollow he'd once been, the Arrancar threw back his head with a triumphant bark of laughter before fixing the two shinigami with a wide grin as he introduced himself.  
“Guess I'll just have to kill you both, then. I'm Arrancar 6. Grimmjow.”  
~*~  
The seconds ticked by like an eternity as the blood thundered in Rukia's ears, the overwhelming force of this arrancar's reiatsu crushing down on them like a wall of invisible force. It was impossible to look away, inconceivable to glance over at Ichigo – though she somehow managed it – to see the same strain in his eyes that she was certain was mirrored in her own, the strain of simply standing and breathing normally amidst power such as this. A single bead of sweat rolled down the back of her neck as she fought back the instinctive fear that came when facing something such as he, quelling the unbidden trembling in her limbs as his malevolent blue gaze studied them with a detached sort of amusement. Rukia could feel her eyes widen as the Arrancar – Grimmjow, that was what he'd said his name was – lowered himself to the sidewalk, the pulse of reiatsu as his booted feet touched the ground enough to send a shock wave rippling outward with force to ruffle Ichigo's hair and make her own black locks shift as if in a silent breeze. Gulping back the rising lump in her throat, she mentally calculated the sheer difference in power between the Arrancar she had just defeated and this monstrosity that was now stepping carefully towards them, his footsteps light and measured as a stalking cat.  
“Which one?”  
It took a moment to comprehend his words, to force her mind past it's struggling coping with the sheer force of his reiatsu for the measured sounds and vocal tones to sort themselves out within her mind into some sort of sensible response. Blinking in a complete lack of comprehension, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his approaching figure as his own blue orbs flitted from herself to Ichigo, measuring and considering. He was sizing them up – probably trying to determine who the greater threat was, the rational portion of her mind helpfully supplied – as he approached, but there was no hint of fear or trepidation in his movements. Only the barely-leashed movements of a predator on the hunt. As he repeated his question, those same blue eyes widened in undisguised glee and anticipation, and the look within them chilled her to the bone.  
“I'm asking, which one of you is the strongest?”  
Almost unbidden, she understood, she knew what the results of this would be. Jerking herself out of the near-stupor his reiatsu had induced, Rukia half-spun, calling out to Ichigo, bidding him to run, to get as far from this place as he could. This was an enemy that neither of them were prepared for, but if one of them had to die... well, she was damned determined it wouldn't be _him_. Sacrifice wasn't necessarily something she tended to do well, but that didn't mean she was prepared to see the young man that _she'd_ dragged into this world – this oft-nightmarish world of death and fighting – die because of her inability to fight off the monster stalking them at this moment.  
“Damn it! Ichigo, run away!”  
He wouldn't understand, of course. Wouldn't realize the sheer difference in power between the two of them, the gap that figuratively spanned worlds. Not Ichigo. No, he would do what he always did, rush in and get himself hurt, only this time it wouldn't end there. Wouldn't end with him limping away – as if he ever did so voluntarily – to lick his bleeding wounds and return for another round once those had healed. This time... he would die. He would die, and that would be the end of everything for him, the end of his life, his future... his dreams. He wouldn't understand. But she _did_.  
Catching the fleeting motion out of the corner of her eye, indigo-hued eyes shifted back towards the Arrancar in time to see the sharp thrust of his arm as it came towards her. Those same eyes widened as she glanced down, almost in slow-motion, to see his hand buried in her abdomen, the crimson of her own blood beginning to seep out of the wound, darkening the material of her shihakushou. The pain hit a moment later, as her nerves began to register the wound, to realize the implications of a hard and unyielding object being punched through you in one fell swoop. She tasted the sharp, coppery tang in the back of her mouth – her own blood, some still-functioning part of her rationale supplied – as the crushing pain ripped through her chest, torn lungs and diaphragm struggling to still function as her vision blurred, the entire world slipping into a surreal half-world, motions slow and deliberate as she watched his triumphant face twist into a smug grin.  
“Heh... I figured it wasn't you.”  
She tried to turn her head, to cast fading gaze at her companion, to call his name and tell him to run, to flee and get away from this menace, from this _thing_ that they'd encountered, this thing that he couldn't hope to defeat, that would surely be the end of him, but all that emerged from between bloodied lips was a faint cough as her vocal cords failed her and bright crimson bubbled at the corners of her lips before trickling down her chin in a thin line of vermilion. The pain intensified as Grimmjow pulled his arm back, raising it – and her, by virtue – to swing it aside, his fist wrenching itself from her innards with a sickening sucking sound as he sent her body crashing to the pavement a few feet away.  
Her name was the last thing she heard before her hearing faded entirely, Ichigo's horrified face fading too as her vision shadowed itself with blackness, his name still on her lips, though it was only in her mind that the word ever made itself known.  
_Ichi.....go...._  
It all happened so fast, _too_ fast, the Arrancar was there and Rukia was yelling and then suddenly, she was suspended, held up by the blue-haired man's fist that was buried in the center of her bloodied torso, that same crimson oozing out of the corner of her mouth as she coughed weakly and attempted to draw breath. Ichigo's senses heightened, and he could hear everything, see everything and before he even really knew what was happening, he was running, his feet pressing against the pavement in shunpou as he screamed her name and charged, one hand ripping Zangetsu free of it's wrappings and bringing it to bear against the one who'd attacked her.  
The cool pavement against her skin was a faint memory, a shadowy feeling that almost seemed otherworldly in it's fragile countenance. As though the feeling itself were merely a facade, a thin veneer spreading over the reality that her world had become, and somehow she _was_ the feeling, looking on from afar as someone else's skin pressed against the cold stone, as someone else's blood pumped a steady deep crimson flow onto the sidewalk. Her body was heavy, so very heavy that moving it – beyond the fact that she didn't think she could – just seemed like too much trouble to worry about, too much to think on. But in turn, that left her mind strangely free to wander as it would. Ironic, that this would be what dying should feel like, this strange expansion of self and self-awareness. It was... pleasant, almost. Well, as pleasant as the fact of death could ever really be, when one considered what the experience itself meant.  
She could hear Ichigo, hear him faintly, as though listening through a tunnel, the faint echoing chords of voice rebounding and buffeting off of the strange walls of the velvety blackness that had shrouded her vision. It was unmistakably Ichigo, she'd memorized his voice in the time they'd spent together, as she'd memorized so many other things. His hair... his eyes... his smile, rare though it was. The orange-haired boy had become a part of her, a part so intrinsic and important that no longer could she truly consider her life as only 'hers' and had been long-since forced to concede that at least a large portion of it belonged to him. Only... he would never know that. Never know how deeply he'd touched her, how much of an impact his simple – and significant, though it never should have been so – life had granted to her long years of duty and obedience. He had changed her, changed her in ways that she'd not thought possible.  
It was like the siphoning of colour into an existence of black and white. Rigid, defined, held in place by rules and restrictions and duty. That was the world that she'd lived in, the world that she'd served and belonged to. But then, her world had collided with his, and he'd shown her another world. A world full of colour and life and feelings.... and love. Love that she'd been startled to realize she carried, horrified to realize she couldn't abandon, and determined that she would keep to herself until the day that the two of them went their separate ways.  
_It..... would have..... been too.... hard......Ichigo....._  
And yet, in spite of the easy rationale that her waning subconscious provided, the question still remained. The question of that sunset evening so few nights ago, that precious moment where, for just an instant, she'd been able to let go. Able to let go, and simply allow all that was her to wash away with the dreams and the wistful yearnings and reach out to grasp a moment like a dream, a momentary glimpse of what life _could_ have been like, what she was certain it _would_ have been like, had they been born together. Had their paths met in a different time, a different age, when they could have simply been a man and a woman, when they could have perhaps one day made a life together, a life together that was simply that. A life. Not the strange partnership of opposites they shared now, not two worlds colliding amidst a shower of sparks and blood and hardship.  
She knew he thought about it. That that evening, when he'd nearly lost himself, when she'd felt him almost lean in, almost close that fragile distance between them and make known what she'd known for what seemed like an eternity, but only recently realize was shared by the orange-haired teen, still swirled about within his mind, still taunted him with it's fleeting nature and it's myriad of what-ifs. What if he really _had_ kissed her? What if he'd followed it up with vows of love – not that vows of love seemed Ichigo's style at all – and a promise to follow her to eternity? What if she'd allowed herself to let go, allowed herself that one moment of bliss, knowing that in turn she would be forced to shatter his dreams with her refusal?  
What if.... they'd given it a chance?  
It was a silly notion, silly because the shinigami within her, the part of her that understood the way things were and understood the way things _had_ to be knew that it was impossible. Impossible, forbidden, unprecedented. It mattered little which word she chose, they all came down to the same conclusion. That no matter the dreams, they were simply that. Dreams. Fantasies that could do little but remain as such, gauzy wisps of hope floating on the wind that were never meant to be. But while the shinigami in her understood that, recognized it, even agreed with it... the woman in her couldn't let it go. Couldn't reconcile the necessity with the want.  
_Would it have really been so wrong..... so bad.... for just one moment....?_  
~*~  
Chappy was watching over Rukia, that much he knew, and for the moment he was thankful for it, at least as much as he could be thankful for _anything_ right now. Pushing himself up with Tensa Zangetsu, Ichigo stood shakily, teeth gritted as he pushed back the taunting voice echoing through his mind, that devilish laughter that reverberated through his soul. He could feel it, feel the black beginning to creep across his vision as surely as he could feel every punch and kick that Grimmjow had landed on his body. The Arrancar was strong, monstrously so, and perhaps the only good that had come of that was that a frantic protection of his own self – and thereby those he was protecting – easily took first and foremost position in his mind, relentlessly pushing aside his own self-doubt and guilt with the sheer ferocity of his need to _survive_, but beyond that, to _win_ and in doing so, keep safe those close to him.  
So far, he'd been doing a pretty shitty job of that, being tossed around like a damned rag doll by the white-clad demon with the laughing blue eyes while the damned _gigai_ protected Rukia and he didn't even _know_ what was going on with the rest of his friends. Hell, if the Arrancar they were facing were anything like this one.... No, he didn't have time to think about that, it was time to actually _think_, to consider his options and try to find a way to win this and win it _fast_, before the Hollow rose up and dragged him down with it's icy fingertips and he drowned in the blackness of his own soul again.  
_I can do it... I can fire off about 2 or 3 more of those before he takes over.. I just have to defeat him with those...._  
Pulling a hand from it's position over his eye – as though, by covering the encroaching blackness, he could somehow hold back the devil, keep it from reaching out and gaining ground – he steadied himself, glaring up at the white-clad form of the Arrancar Ridiculous concept, of course, the Hollow was in his soul, not his _eye_, but reflex actions hardly tended to carry rationale within them, after all, and then again he wasn't exactly trying to advertise that he was having some sort of difficulty. That was all he needed, to show more weakness in front of this foe, this foe who was proving to be more dangerous than any he'd ever encountered before, Aizen aside. Even in his fights with Kenpachi, or Byakuya, there hadn't been such an immeasurable difference in their strength, such a gap between them. This fight... was different.  
Tensing for another strike, feeling the reiatsu gather and intensify, he pulled up short as a dark figure appeared in a blur of movement, one hand resting lightly yet firmly on Grimmjow's shoulder. The Arrancar seemed just as surprised at the appearance of the visored man with the dark hair, ebony skin in stark contrast to the white uniform he wore. It took a moment – and the angry way Grimmjow spat the man's name – for recognition to sink in as the memory of where he'd last seen that man made itself known to him. Tousen. One of the captains who had deserted Soul Society along with Aizen. He'd last seen Tousen there, looking up from the ground where he lay as the three traitors were encased in the yellow glow of the Negacion field as the gathered Menos rescued those they considered their own. Even now, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd been acting on their own, or simply taking orders from their higher-ranked Arrancar brethren.  
Ichigo's ears couldn't pick up on the short and abrupt conversation that passed between the two, though it was impossible to miss the anger that spread across the arrancar's face or the infuriated way he slammed the blade of his sword back into it's scabbard with a curse before turning to follow Tousen back into the strange gaping hole that had appeared in the sky like a rent in the fabric of reality itself. Stepping forward, he called after Grimmjow angrily.  
“Wait! Where the hell are you going?!”  
Taking a moment, the Arrancar paused, shoving hand back into his pockets in an almost bored gesture before turning to glance over his shoulder with a disgusted, dismissive expression as he stared down at the shinigami.  
“Shut your ass up. We're going back to Hueco Mundo.”  
Eyes widening with something comprised both of surprise and rage, Ichigo growled up at them. Going back? The hell did that mean, they were just planning to show up, attack, and then leave whenever the hell it suited them? Clenching one hand around the hilt of Tensa Zangetsu, he could feel the anger well up, the Hollow greedily feeding on his rage, laughing in his mind as it taunted him with his own weakness, his own impotence at needing to use _it's_ power because his own was so minuscule by comparison. He had to be kidding, Grimmjow did. They weren't _done_ yet, the fight wasn't over, a fact that he snarled back at the blue-haired man dismissing him so easily, only to be met with a scoff and a glare as Grimmjow ignored him and continued talking.  
“Gimme a break. My leaving is the only thing that could have saved you, shinigami.”  
Pulling back in startled incomprehension, Ichigo narrowed his eyes at the other man as Grimmjow half-turned to face him again, an irritated look on his face as he continued.  
“I can tell just by looking at you that that move you just pulled damages your body. You've got 2, maybe 3 more shots in you. And even if you could manage to fire _those_ off without limits... you'd never have a chance against my released form.”  
The last words were spoken with a triumphant grin as he watched Ichigo's angry expression turn to one of shocked horror. Laughing, the Arrancar hooked one thumb through the belt of his hakama.  
“Don't go forgettin' my name, Shinigami. Just pray you never hear it again! Grimmjow Jaggerjack. The next time you hear this name, it'll be your last, Shinigami.”  
With another bark of derisive laughter, he turned on his heel and vanished through the rip in the sky, the edges closing seamlessly without a sound. Ichigo stood in the center of the cracked crater that had once been the street, amber eyes trained on the sky where they had vanished for another moment or two before his body made it's protests known, his legs buckling as he landed hard on his knees on the blasted pavement, Tensa Zangetsu dropping from his hand to clatter against the broken stone as he fell forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath, weighted down by his own failure.  
_I.... I lost....._  
He remained there for a moment, eyes trained on the ground, on his cracked and bloodied fingers where they pressed against the hard unyielding surface of the stone, small droplets of blood from the cuts on his face occasionally falling to leave fat circles of crimson on his skin only to slide down and join the ones already marking the pavement. He'd lost... in spite of how hard he'd trained, in spite of all that he'd accomplished in Soul Society... he'd lost. And had the Arrancar not retreated, there was little doubt that he'd not only have lost, but he'd have died. Gritting his teeth and pushing himself up to his feet, he vaguely registered Renji's approach as the crimson-haired shinigami stopped at the edge of the crater, his expression hard and serious as he studied Ichigo, stating the obvious – that the Arrancar had retreated – before pressing lips together and asking the one question that, right now, Ichigo most wanted to avoid.  
“Did you win?”  
He hated Renji at that moment, not because of anything the other shinigami had done, but simply because Renji's innocent question only brought to the forefront the self-loathing that was creeping into his mind right now. Shifting on his feet, staggering for a moment before he re-firmed his stance, Ichigo leaned his head back, training darkened eyes on the sky overhead for a long few seconds before shaking his head slightly.  
“I lost.”  
The words bit at him, soured on his tongue like milk left out in the summer, but bitter as they were to swallow, they were true, and swallowing them was a necessity. He _had_ lost, in spite of Renji's attempt to change his mind, to snap some sense into him and remind him that the fact that he was _alive_ meant that he hadn't lost, that he'd won, and perhaps in another circumstance he might have understood it, recognized what the redhead was trying to do, and might even have appreciated it ultimately. But right now... all he could do was cut the tattooed man off with a snarled reply.  
“Don't lie to me. Would you say that if you were me?”  
He sensed that his words had struck home, that they'd found their mark and lodged deep within the other shinigami as Renji's expression changed to a more serious one, graver and more thoughtful as the elder man contemplated Ichigo's words, unable to deny their truth. Renji would have considered it a loss, just as he himself considered it one. Living or dying... it only mattered when your opponent didn't up and leave because he considered you not worth killing. Gritting his teeth, Ichigo felt his fists clench as he continued, his words bitter and harsh in the stillness of the aftermath.  
“I couldn't protect anyone. And I couldn't defeat those who wounded us. I lost.”  
Staring upwards, he felt his mouth form the word, his tongue slide over the syllables making up the arrancar's name. He'd remember that name. He'd remember it every day, every second he lived. Remember it, follow it, train for it. Because he'd make the other man's last words true. The next time he heard that name... it _would_ be the last time. He'd make sure of it.  
_It'll be the last time... because you won't walk away from it...._  
“..Grimmjow....”  
~*~  
Screwing the white cap off of the bottle, one long-fingered hand curled itself around the white cylinder, resting against the hilt of the sword at his hip as his other hand raised the clear plastic bottle to his pursed lips, olive green eyes closing as the cool liquid washed down his throat before he crouched down, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the toes of his wingtip shoes were resting on thin air. Or that he was _upside-down_ in that same thin air.  
“Yare, yare.... that was one big pain in the ass....”  
Heaving a sigh, the man lowered the bottle, setting it down against the air itself in as eerie a fashion as his own body rested against the heavens, settling his elbows lightly against his knees in a contemplative manner. This was going to prove more difficult than he'd anticipated, not that _that_ fact really surprised him, given the history he had with all parties involved. Well, at least with those from Soul Society. The boy.... well, he was an anomaly, a rather _helpful_ anomaly, but an anomaly nonetheless. They could use him, that much was certain, and Shinji was nearly _as_ certain that the orange-haired young man would make it a difficult matter for the rest of them, as obstinate as the youth seemed to be. Oh well, that was of little concern. Whether Kurosaki Ichigo wanted it or not, he would one day join them. It was the only choice left to the boy, when it came down to it, unless he _wanted_ to turn into a Hollow.  
It was the shinigami who had appeared that were the real concern. He'd been watching the fights, all of them – seeing little Ururu get involved had been upsetting. She was a sweet kid, he'd have to pay a visit to Kisuke to see how she was faring later – and while none of the shinigami involved had been any that he recognized from his years spent in Soul Society, it wouldn't do to become sloppy. Sloppy would only get all of them killed, and that was precisely what he _didn't_ want to see happen.  
_This shit's just gettin' more complicated._  
Adjusting the hat on his blond head, Hirako Shinji stood up, reaching for the cap to his water bottle where it had managed to wander off somehow -- why on earth couldn't things just _stay_ where he set them? -- and screwing the white cap back onto the bottle before dropping one hand lightly to the hilt of his zanpakutou. It had been a long time since either of them had seen a real fight, and while he knew perfectly well that a fight wasn't what either of them needed right now, he could still sense her eagerness all but vibrating the blade. Sighing he glanced down at the fuchsia-wrapped hilt.  
"Che.... quit bein' so damn impatient. You'll get one soon enough."  
Tossing the bottle aside, he paid it no heed as the plastic vessel tumbled end over end through the air, released from his control to land with a thunk in one of the refuse bins on the street below, he shoved hands into his pockets and headed off along the sky. They'd need to make a decision soon, and the others would be pissed if he made it without talking to them first.  
~*~  
Bathed in the soft yellow glow of Inoue's power, he watched with worried eyes as the faint glow suffused the small black-garbed form in golden-orange light, the edges of the horrible wound she'd acquired at Grimmjow's hand beginning to close. His own wounds stung, but that faint pain was easily shoved aside while he watched the walnut-haired girl heal Rukia's wound instead. She'd tried to heal him, or at least to get him to let someone else -- Rangiku, Toushirou, anyone -- see to the deep rents and contusions left by the blue-haired arrancar's beating, but he'd shoved them off and planted himself beside his small companion, amber-hued eyes locked relentlessly on the slow, halting rise and fall of her chest, as though somehow if he kept his gaze fixed, he could ensure that movement's continuance.  
He couldn't move, could barely breathe as he watched that slow, even motion, fearful at each slight falter that it would cease, that Inoue's power would fail and the faint breathing sustaining the black-haired shinigami would end and that would be _it_. She'd be dead, and gone and it would be his fault, _his_ fault, because that's what it was, even if no one else blamed him and even if they spent the rest of their lives trying to convince him otherwise. It was his fault, as Inoue's injury and Sado's arm had been his fault. Because he was weak. Because he'd _failed_ them.  
Swallowing past the dryness in his mouth and the lump in his throat, he fought back the fear, fought back the dread that he hadn't felt in longer than he could remember. It was like before, like it had been so many years ago, when he'd sat there as a little boy and watched his mother take her final breaths on that blood-soaked shore, the pouring rain washing the crimson splatters from the brilliant yellow of his raincoat as he'd stared in stunned horror at her body, his childish mind not understanding, only knowing that she'd been running because of him and that now she was dead. Dead because of him, as Rukia nearly was. Biting his lower lip, he raised his hand slightly, almost automatically reaching to take her small, cold fingers into his before he crushed the gesture, curling his fingers into an angry and trembling fist. No. He couldn't be weak anymore.  
Slowly pulling back his shaking fist, he never noticed the look that Orihime cast at him, the concern in her gray eyes momentarily shadowed by something else as she saw the almost-movement of his hand, studied the look on his face for a long few seconds before turning her attention back to Rukia, tilting her head and letting long hair fall to shield her face from view, or the way her hands trembled momentarily before she regained her resolve and set her lips in a hard line, concentration returning to the task at hand.

Author's Notes: Wow.... I never realized until I spent WEEKS doing this chapter, just how hard it is to re-write something that's already been written. The bulk of this chapter is basically a rehash of canon itself, with my own interpretations of thoughts, feelings, motivations, etc. thrown in to deepen the story and tie pieces together. Now, I have never stated that I am that good at action sequences. Frankly, I always feel that I'm either too rough -- IE, everyone loses limbs/eyes/etc left and right -- or that I'm too fast, interspersing too much thought and not enough action into it. This was difficult simply because I have v. little in the way of wiggle-room when it comes to the fight scenes. We KNOW what happens in this fight, it's been written a long time ago, and it's been animated as well, so there's not as much to shift around to suit me, and that's something I'm not v. good with. I DO feel I did a satisfactory job in capturing the atmosphere of both fights while still putting enough of myself in there to tie in with the previous chapter and set the emotional/mental mood of the thing. For anyone who's not following, Ru's thoughts about Ichigo were occurring while his fight was going on, in her subconscious. And yes, unlike our berry, who hasn't totally realized where his feelings lie, Ru knows exactly how she feels about him and because she knows, she's made a decision to keep it to herself. And now, at what she assumes is the end, her only real regret is that she can't help wondering if it wouldn't have been worth it to take the chance. I know that in canon, as far as we know, Shinji isn't anywhere near here, but personally I don't think it makes much sense for them NOT to be keeping tabs on things, and while the rest of the Vaizard would be interested as well, having multiple people there would have just drawn attention they don't need. Anyone who doesn't know why Shinji knows Ururu needs to go read or watch the TBTP flashback gaiden arc. XD. And yes, Orihime notices the way he's watching Ru, and she's got an idea of what it means, even though he himself really doesn't. Either way, hope you're enjoying Genesis, and that this chapter lives up to any expectations you may have after reading the first one. ^__^  
-Taso


	3. And the sun beat down on parched petals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I seem to have an inherent dislike for the spacebar, so save your breath pointing out out all my madeup combo words lol. Also yes, chapter titles are whatever phrase was originally used for the content cut on livejournal.

The timer on the microwave rang out with a sharp ding as inset lights and the rotating plate inside came to a halt, the machine's whirring subsiding and leaving the occasional staccato sound of kernels popping inside the paper bag the only sound echoing throughout the apartment. Glancing up towards the kitchen with a faint sigh, Orihime curled tighter into the pink and green patterned blanket from her vantage point at the end of the couch. Listening, the girl fingered the stitched edge of the floral-print fleece as the popping sound dissipated from it's rhythmic patter to a sporadic tamponade before swinging her feet off of the edge of the couch and stretching her legs slightly.

Standing up and tossing the blanket aside to land in a crumpled heap against the back of the couch, she padded across the carpet and made her way into the kitchen, snagging a convenient blue plastic bowl from the cabinet below the microwave as she punched the white button to send the door swinging open. Reaching into the white plastic box, she grabbed for the paper bag resting on the upturned plate, drawing back her fingers with a sharp hiss and a grimace of discomfort as the butter-scented steam puffed from the corners of the bag. Well, that wouldn't do any good, to burn herself before she even got the treat out into the bowl.

“Iiiita ta ta.....that's hot...”

Chewing on her lower lip in concentration, she curled her other arm around, the motion made all the more awkward by the bandaged cast still encasing her forearm, and carefully balanced the blue plastic bowl in the hollow between her arm and her torso. There... that should work. The cast was frustrating at best, but at least Yoruichi-san had told her that it would probably be able to come off in a few more days. Turning her attention back to the microwave, she reached back in, gingerly pinching one corner of the paper in her fingers before dragging the package out to drop into the bowl. Raking her other arm across her forehead, she couldn't help the triumphant smile. That wasn't so hard, after all. Turning to one of the upper cabinets, she pulled open the door with her free hand and studied the contents in the spice cabinet for a long moment before reaching up and snagging a few of the little shakers, muttering to herself as she did so.

“Ok... chili and garlic pepper.... cinnamon..... maybe some cajun sprinkles? I guess I can just get them all..... oh, and can't forget the wasabi spread.”

Satisfied with her selection, the walnut-haired girl dumped the bottles and tubes into the bowl along with the bag of popcorn and made her way back over to the couch. Setting the bowl on the small coffee table, she plucked the various topping containers out, lining them up beside the blue plastic hemisphere before turning attention back to the popcorn. That would prove a little bit trickier, and ultimately she was forced to concede that a pair of scissors would make opening the troublesome paper packet a bit easier. Snipping off the top edge, she upended the snack into the bowl, taking a moment to close her eyes and inhale the warm scent of the popcorn before setting the bowl back down and turning back over her shoulder.

“Rangiku-san, the popcorn's ready.”

“Oooh, really?~”

The bathroom door slid open with a soft swish, the steam from the interior billowing out into the room as the strawberry-blond shinigami stepped out, her long hair twisted up in a damp knot at the back of her neck, innocuously clad in simple sweatpants and a T-shirt that still somehow managed to seem too small in spite of the fact that Orihime knew for a fact it was the biggest one she owned. With a wide grin on her face, Rangiku hopped over the back of the couch to land with a thump beside the younger girl, cornflower blue eyes wide in wonder as she studied the puffed treat in the blue bowl before picking up one of the cream-coloured pieces to turn it over in her hand.

“So this is 'popcorn', huh? And humans really eat this? It smells wonderful...”

The shinigami's mood was infectious, and in spite of her own mood, Orihime couldn't help but smile as she reached for one of the half-dozen shakers sitting on the table, holding it up for Rangiku to see.

“It tastes great too. I like to put toppings on mine, you try some too!”

Within a few moments, the mood in the room had relaxed considerably, and the two women were cheerfully ensconced on the couch, the bowl of popcorn between them as they debated the merits of individual toppings for the popcorn and shared laughing commentary of the ridiculously over-acted kung-fu movie on the TV. It was enough to almost completely distract Orihime from her troubles, giggling and holding up one arm to shield herself from the popcorn as it went flying in response to Rangiku's loud assertions that the particular fighting move the hero in the movie had just used didn't go like that, it went more like this. Only, 'this' was punctuated by the swing of her arm as the older woman made attempt to demonstrate the difference in the poorly-acted farce on screen and the actual move.

“R..Rangiku-san! You're spilling the popcorn!”

Laughing as she was showered with fluffy white kernels, Orhime turned gray eyes back to the screen, watching as the hero of the story – he was easily identified by the ridiculously over-done armour he wore and the fact that he was wielding the 'sword of legend', which in her opinion more resembled a plain old katana with a bow around the hilt than anything legendary. But that didn't really matter in stories like these. Stories where the handsome hero came fighting through all obstacles to save the princess about to be condemned to an awful fate. Like Kurosaki-kun..... and Kuchiki-san......

Sighing as she tried in vain to push back to sudden thoughts – couldn't she get peace from them even in a fantasy movie – she tucked one hand under her head and leaned against the cushions, quicksilver optics trained on the technicolor action flashing across the screen. It was true, no matter how much she may have wanted to deny it. The hero in the story even looked a little like Ichigo, with his spiky hair – though his was black – and the red tie he used to keep the legendary magic sword sheathed at his back. Even his brash way of acting, the way he fought – if melodramatically – through the hoardes of enemies blocking the moutain pass up to the castle where the princess was being held captive were like Ichigo. Like the way he had fought through all of Soul Society, taken on captains and vice-captains, even been willing to take on Aizen himself. For her. For Rukia.

Biting her lower lip against the sudden prickling of tears at the corners of her eyes, she pushed them back, determined that this time the feelings wouldn't win, that the loneliness and despair that she felt at times when she considered the undeniable bond her two friends possessed, the bond that she knew, without having to ask, transcended mere friendship. It was only that much harder that neither Kurosaki-kun or Kuchiki-san seemed to notice it, that they both seemed so oblivious to the fact of their own relationship, to the closeness that they shared that so excluded everyone else. It was like the story on the screen. Kurosaki-kun was the handsome hero, fighting through every obstacle that came into his path, no matter how daunting the odds were. Pushing forward with loud declarations that no matter what happened, he would prevail, and save the princess from her awful fate. And Kuchiki-san was the princess. The beautiful, isolated and reserved girl of the hero's dreams, lofty in her tower and in her perfection, standing in the clouds where mere mortals could never hope to be. Ironically enough, the ornate white kimono the actress in the movie wore even looked similar to the white that Kuchiki-san had been wearing during her imprisonment, in that tall white tower before her execution.

Munching half-heartedly on the popcorn, Orihime couldn't help but feel the dull ache that always went along with feelings like that. That walked hand-in-hand with the realization that while Kurosaki-kun was the hero, and Kuchiki-san the white-clad princess in the tower, she herself was nothing like that. She wasn't the princess, wasn't the destined love or the object of his quest. All she was, when it came down to it, was the village girl running by his side, silently helping the man she'd adored since their childhood together save the princess. Nevermind that it was Tatsuki, and not her, who'd grown up with Kurosaki-kun, it was still the same. The girl who couldn't have her love returned, helping that same love into the arms of another. That was how these movies always ended, anyway. The hero rescued the princess and together they'd go off into the sunset sky of forever, hand in hand and hearts intertwined.

Sometimes the village girl would sacrifice herself, die in a tragic way as she enabled their quest, often bidding her unrequited love farewell at the last moment. Sometimes, as the pair went on their way, she would watch and wish them well, a smile always on her face though Orihime couldn't help but feel that same smile was a mockery. No one would be able to smile that way, not without sadness in their eyes, at watching the one they love with someone else. But, she supposed, that didn't really matter in a movie. Movies weren't real, not when it came down to it. They were just someone's fantasy, someone's ideals and imagination. Like so many other things in life.

She didn't notice she was crying, not until the first hot salty tear splashed onto the hand she hadn't realized was fisted in the blanket, shaking slightly as the loud sounds of the latest fight scene echoed through the room. What she did notice was Rangiku's arm as it slipped around her shoulder, the shinigami cocking her head to the side as she studied Orihime with concerned blue eyes, her other hand picking up the slim rectangle – remote control, they'd said it was called – and pressing the button that Orihime had shown her earlier made the images on the screen stop moving and freeze.

~*~

Setting the remote back down on the couch, Rangiku shifted to face the younger girl, watching as her unbandaged hand came up, almost unbidden, fist screwing into her eyes in a vain attempt to hide the tears that had welled up and spilled over the edge of her eyelids to track faint shining trails down her cheeks. She couldn't say she was surprised at the tears, she'd been waiting for the wall to break since they'd returned to Orihime's apartment. Something was bothering the girl, and the 10th's fukutaichou would have been willing to wager that it had at least something to do with the conversation they'd shared the other night. Letting her breath out in a sigh, she ran her free hand through Orihime's coppery hair before raising an eyebrow at the other girl.

“What's wrong?”

Gray eyes looked up at her with a slightly bewildered expression, as though the girl was surprised that the slip of her smiling mask had been noticed, their lashes moist with still unshed tears as the liquid glimmered in the TV's blinking lights. Watching as the girl valiantly – at least it was in Ran's opinion, seeing as Orihime was still so young and it was hard enough hiding pain when you were as old as most shinigami – tried to force her hurt back into the box she'd undoubtably been keeping it in, she simply waited for a moment as fingers clenched slightly in the blanket and lower lip trembled before her younger companion turned and buried her face in Rangiku's ample bosom. She hadn't really expected that, but long-unused motherly instincts kicked in and she sighed softly, petting the girl's bright hair and tightening her arm around Orihime's shoulders as she simply let the girl cry, listening to the blubbered words that escaped between sobs.

_So.... she's noticed, I guess. Not surprising, she's sharper than most people give her credit for._

It wasn't hard to gauge at least some portion of the problem, or at least the fact that it had to do with the rather complex – and triangular, she was learning – relationship between Inoue Orihime, Kurosaki Ichigo, and Kuchiki Rukia. Nor did it take much difficulty to guess the dynamics of that mess when one simply paid attention. And in so many ways, it wasn't fair. Not that much in life – or love – really was, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. Murmuring soothing things to the girl, Rangiku rocked her gently, hoping that the scant amount of comfort she could provide would at least serve to do some good for Orihime. There wasn't much else she could offer her.

She, like so many others, had certainly noticed the closeness between the petite shinigami and the young man who had become her substitute, her partner. It would take a blindness of more than simply the eyes not to notice the subtle signs, the way they simply fit together, like two pieces of a whole, two of a pair in so many ways. They understood each other, they connected, on a level that surpassed any connection that either of the pair had with anyone else. It wasn't even that that same connection was necessarily romantic in nature – as far as she could discern, it wasn't – but there was little denying that it had every indication of having the potential for that. Rukia and Ichigo had the sort of bond that only came around once in a lifetime. What you did with it, however, was ultimately up to you. Stroking Orihime's long hair somewhat awkwardly, she pondered what to say to the girl to make the hurt better. Or even if there was anything to say to make it better.

Listening silently as Orihime's sobs quieted and her words became clearer, less muted and fogged by her tears, she nodded slightly as the other girl pulled back, wiping her eyes and turning to face the TV again, legs drawn up to her chest as she sniffled slightly before turning to Rangiku with a faint, weary smile. Frowning, she narrowed her eyes at the girl – she wasn't fooling anyone, there was no reason to act strong – and crossed her arms over her chest with a raised eyebrow.

“Stop it, you silly thing. If it hurts, then it hurts. You don't have to try and pretend that it doesn't.”

~*~

Blinking back tears, she chewed on her lower lip before nodding to Rangiku. The shinigami was right, of course. It wasn't as though she hadn't just spent the last few minutes pouring out her troubles – albeit half of them probably hadn't been decipherable – to the female shinigami, but still it was hard not to automatically pull on the mask, to smile through the pain and the tears as though they were nothing. Turning back to the TV, she pulled her knees up to her chest, the fingertips on her uninjured hand reaching down to trace little circles over the toenails she'd painted pink a few nights ago when her houseguest had insisted they try out the nail polish. Swallowing, she studied the minor imperfections in the polish before pulling in a shuddering breath.

“I... I'm sorry, Rangiku-san. I.... I didn't mean to get so upset.”

It was only polite to apologize, as she was rather certain that the long-haired woman sitting next to her on the couch had certainly not counted on having to deal with an armful of sobbing 15-year old girl, even though all it earned her was a stern look of disapproval from Rangiku, as though she ought to be rethinking the need to apologize. Shifting slightly on the couch, she drew the blanket up around her and looped arms loosely over her knees with a sigh. At least now that she was calmed down, it was a bit easier to explain, to make her earlier words make sense.

"I..... I know you told me before.... that it doesn't matter. That Kurosaki-kun needs both me and Kuchiki-san. That... we help him in different ways. But.... but I..... I can't help it. Kuchiki-san is so much braver than I am, she's so strong and beautiful, and... I'll never measure up to that."

Leaning backwards, she felt the soft cushioned shape of the couch catch and support her weight with a slight sinking as the foam stuffing in the pillows shifted to accomodate her form. Fiddling with the pink polish on her toes again, she shrugged her shoulders before pulling arms up to rest her chin in her cupped hands, gray eyes locked onto the frozen images on the television screen.

"It's like in the movie. Kurosaki-kun is the hero. So strong, and brave and he's fighting so hard, _so_ hard to reach the princess and I'm not her. I'm just the girl along for the ride, the one who can't even really do anything to help him fight. The one he doesn't even see...."

She could see the shinigami out of the corner of her eye, could read the concern evidenced there in her eyes. Rangiku didn't understand, at least not on the level that Orihime wished she could, but then she didn't _expect_ the strawberry-blond haired woman to understand. Rangiku wasn't like her, she was like Kuchiki-san. Certainly not in appearance, as there was little in the way of physical resemblance between the blonde, buxom vicecaptain and the elfin, dark-haired unseated other than the fact that both were shinigami and both were female, but resemblance and similarities often had little to do with physicality. Rangiku was strong, she was brave and courageous and above that she wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid of the possibilities, of what might lay ahead and of what potential heartbreak awaited her in the war that was looming ever so closely on the horizon.

Before her house-guest could say something, however well-intentioned it may have been, Orihime shook her head, drawing her knees up tighter to her chest and biting her lower lip before continuing in a shaking voice that matched the trembling in her heart.

"I....I know you say that things aren't decided, that I shouldn't feel this way, but... but I can see it. I can see it in Kurosaki-kun's eyes, when he looks at Kuchiki-san. When he knows she isn't looking, and he thinks that no one else is either. His eyes are... they're different when he looks at her, they have a different expression when he says her name. It's there, even if Kurosaki-kun doesn't know it, or won't admit it. And... and there's the way they just _are_ together. The way they talk, and the way they stand together, it's like.... it's like there's some whole world that no one else can see, that only had the two of them in it."

She drew a shuddering breath, the tears beginning to leak over her eyelids again as her voice broke and she pulled a corner of the blanket up to dab at the gathering moisture that welled up and trickled down her cheeks.

"And... and it's in Kuchki-san's face too. When she's watching him fight, or even when they're fighting. It's... it's something that's so different from anything that I have..."

Burying her face into the blanket again, she felt the slight shift in the seat cushions as Rangiku's weight settled onto the couch beside her, followed by the comforting warmth of an arm looped about her shoulders as the shinigami drew her halfway into a soft embrace, murmuring words of encouragement. It was well-meant, and while she was grateful for the concern, the compassion that the 10th's vice-captain was giving to her, it did nothing to assuage the raw hurt that bubbled up from within her, the spark of resentment for what her dark-haired friend had that _she_ would give the world for. And the part that stung the most was that Rukia didn't even seem to be aware of it. Pulling back, she knuckled the teardrops from her eyes with a stubborn shake of her head before resting her cheek against Rangiku's shoulder.

"Even if I hadn't already suspected.... I could tell last night. When I was healing Kuchiki-san, the look on his face.... it was like someone who's lost the center of their world, like a little child who's wandered away and can't find their way home. I... I've never seen Kurosaki-kun look so defeated before, so.... so afraid...."

Swallowing, she let a soft sigh slide from her as she shifted yet again, pillowing her head more gently against the shinigami's comforting warmth. It had frightened her, seeing the man she adored looking so lost, so helpless and unsure of himself. As though without Rukia's steadying presence a constant at his side, he didn't know where to turn, where to look for the grounding that he needed. Grounding that _she_ somehow couldn't give him.

"Rangiku-san.... is it even worth it to keep hoping? To keep wondering and praying that things will turn out differently? Or am I just running in a race that I've already lost?...."

*******

Slowly letting out a sigh, the shinigami raked manicured nails through long strawberry tresses as she studied the tired gray eyes peering into her own cornflower blue irises. She wouldn't lie to the girl, Orihime deserved more than that, but there was a very fine line between lying or giving false hope and telling someone what they needed to hear to not give up. Cocking her head to one side, she raised an eyebrow at the teen.

"Is the race _really_ over?"

Pulling the girl closer to her, she raised a hand to press Orihime's bright head against her shoulder.

"I know what you see. And how it makes you feel. And.... honestly, I don't know. I don't really know Ichigo that well, so I can't tell you where his heart lies, but I do know that if you give up now, then you'll never know if you may have missed a chance that was just waiting for you. Perhaps you're right, and if that's the case well then you'll cry for awhile, and then you'll get back up and move on. But if you don't keep hoping, and keep trying... then you'll never even have that chance. So don't give up quite yet. If it isn't meant to be.... then time will tell you that."

Ruffling Orihime's burnished hair, she chuckled slightly before picking up the discarded popcorn bowl with a smile.

"Now come on, we haven't finished the movie yet and I still have to show you how that one back-flipping move went."

Her eyebrows bobbed in question as she waggled the plastic hemisphere with it's puffed contents, the kernels bouncing against the interior of the bowl in a playful staccato rhythm. Watching carefully, she saw the corners of the girl's mouth turn up slightly, a giggle beginning to make it's way from her throat as the ease of the moment brushed away the tears.

"Can you really _do_ that, Rangiku-san?"

"Just watch me!"

*****************


End file.
